


Toast

by pendle_witch



Category: Love Island (Video Game)
Genre: Comfort, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Love, Post-Villa, Relationship(s), Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-27 13:29:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20408521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pendle_witch/pseuds/pendle_witch
Summary: Post-Villa MC is feeling down and Gary makes her toast. Because love is having someone to make you toast when you’re sad.





	Toast

You hear the front door open and close heavily, followed by Gary’s loud footsteps as he walks into the flat in his work boots. 

“Hello, babe, I’m home!” he shouts. 

“I’m in the bedroom!” you reply.

You’re laid in bed feeling sorry for yourself, cocooned in your duvet. Another shitty news story has hit the headlines about you, a made up lot of gossip but it’s all getting to you. You’re not used to the fame and the hate that comes with it and you’re glad to just hide in bed for once. 

You wish you had Gary’s ability to let it all wash over him, not paying attention to whatever the press is saying. Nearly as soon as you were out the villa he went back to work, whilst you did interviews and photoshoots and signed contracts. 

It’s been a few months now, and things are finally feeling settled - you’ve got a beautiful flat together overlooking the quayside, the kind of property neither of you could have dreamed of before Love Island, and you get to enjoy coming home to one another, the kind of life that Gary always spoke about in the villa, the simple domesticities. Still, you wonder if it’s all impermanent. The villa had that effect, of making everything seem like it might change in an instant. 

You’ve been mulling over these worries most of the afternoon, listening half-heartedly to daytime soaps and scrolling through your phone. Most of your fellow Islanders seem to be so happy, and they didn’t even win - it makes you wonder why you aren’t so happy.

Gary pokes his head through the bedroom door, leaning against the frame, and sees you laid in bed. He’s taken his work boots off but he’s still in his hi-vis, his hair all messy from his hard hat. 

“Why you in bed at this time? Not feeling well?” 

“I’m just feeling rubbish. All of it getting to me, I suppose,” you mumble.

His face drops in concern and he crosses his arms, thinking. 

“I hate to see you like this, love.”

“I know...I’ll be fine. Just having one of those days.”

“Stay where you are and give me five; I’ll join you in bed, how about that?” he says with a cheeky grin, but his voice is full of real care and worry. 

You nod yes, and he leaves the room. 

You can hear him go to the kitchen and some curious clattering comes from the vicinity. Although his nan is no longer cooking his meals, Gary’s chef skills haven’t improved greatly and you’re a bit perturbed. 

He returns pretty fast, carrying a plate and steaming mug. He’s stripped down to his boxers and it sends an unexpected jolt through you; you’ve both been insatiable since having privacy with each other and it hasn’t gotten old yet, the spark is still like live electric. 

“What have you got there?” you ask. 

“I made you toast. Toast and a cup of tea,” he smiles proudly, setting them down on your bedside table. 

The toast has been painstakingly and carefully cut into four pieces, each one spread differently, with plain butter, jam, Marmite and peanut butter. You can’t help thinking back to Gary struggling to butter plain bread in the villa, and you’re pleased with the effort he’s made for you. 

“I didn’t know what you’d want on it. And I didn’t want to ask. Y’know, cos it’d ruin the surprise of it.”

You thank him, smiling and sitting up to eat it. He climbs into bed beside you and he puts a strong, protective arm around you, squeezing you up close to his chest. In his arms, you feel safe and secure, comfortable. He presses a firm kiss against the top of your head, and the hair on his chest tickles your side. He smells a little sweaty, a little like engine oil but also tantalisingly good. You eat your toast, not expecting an appetite, but find yourself suddenly ravenous. The toast hits the spot satisfyingly. 

“Can’t have my girl going hungry,” Gary says, “Toast is the perfect food when you’re feeling down.” 

“Thank you, babe, for always being there. For caring for me, making me toast when I’m sad. You make me feel so much better, you know that. You make me feel happy,” you say.

Gary reddens a little but grins anyway, looking pleased.

“Don’t need to thank me, you know. That’s just what love is.”


End file.
